


Revenge

by AgatheAlmond



Series: The Survivor [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:12:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgatheAlmond/pseuds/AgatheAlmond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maryanna is now about to avenge her family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revenge

The ocean of sand was laying calm under the horizon. Its dune were high as waves, the sun was strong and attacked the heads of the travelers. Nothing was to be found even a hundred mile from there, nothing that would show you some interest at least: In the middle of this grand desert stood the great city of Stalaba.   
Around its walls, the garden of pain was threatening. Full of bones, of dead people and animals, the garden was informing the next travelers that no place would be found for them into the city. The doors never opened to the world on this side. The only link with the external world was made by the sea.   
The walls stood tall and strong, they were impenetrable. No one had ever succeeded in taking the city. Most of its inhabitant didn’t even know when an army was attempting a siege on the city. All of them were unsuccessful, for the only access to the city was the sea, but no one dared attacking them from there. Stalaba had thousands of ships, and the best captains of the sea of Melbor.   
If few people have been able to come back from their visit to the garden of pain even a fewer number have seen what was inside.   
OOn the inside, you could see whole neighborhood covered by flowers that were yellow, pink, red, green, blue! Musicians were in every corner. You could smell the colors, hear the scents and see the music. […] Another would be showing the harmony, with the presence of a man and a woman – one holding the moon, the other the sun, and forming one and only element. […] She was standing tall, holding the sun in her hands, high above her head. […] In the end the water would follow its trail next to the gigantic marble stairs, and run through the columns that were holding the structure of the pyramid, to end up in the pool situated on the bottom. Down there, you could see and hear the cry of the children playing in the sand; you could see great suburbs made of multicolor textiles.  
The market was on a square not far from there. You could hear the merchants trying to sell their products. You could smell all the spices coming from overseas. You could taste the wine from Namo, taste the meat from Pinta, try the juicy and sweet fruit from Kasaba, admire the beautiful Jewel made in Tyron, you could touch the smooth, and light textile coming from the Mother land. 

Inside the pyramid, the Wise Men also called the Namé were working and living. If their city was beautiful, the Namé didn't see it, they had more important matter to look upon. The city wasn't ruled by only one man, it was ruled by 7 of them, chosen by the free people of this little world. Or at least it was what was said, because this year, Anya had celebrated her 21st nameday, but had never voted. Since she was born, the Namé didn't change.  
Maryanna of house Longudale. Or Shaw. Or Nan. Or Salty. Almond? Cona? Whoever she was, whoever she had been, she was today standing in front of the gates of the great city. She was far away from her starting point; she was on the other side of the world. She came all the way from Moren, West department of the great empire of the Motherland, to them.Today would be the day, she would accomplish her task.  
She went on the door and shouted, knocked, hit, shouted again. It seemed like hours had passed and no one came. She was thirsty. This terrible land of sand offered no water outside of the walls of the city. She was hungry, it had been three days she hadn’t eaten. She shouted again and again, until a man appeared on the top of the majestic wall. “Get out of here wretch! Nothing is here for you!”   
Wretch… It was true. She looked like a beggar, a peasant. The clothes she wore once were beautiful. It was three years ago. They were soft and shiny, rich, beautiful. Today they were nothing but rags. All torn, they didn’t even fit her anymore. They were covered in mud, blood and sand. She wore boots that couldn’t be considered boots anymore; she was almost walking on the ground. Her cape was torn, only the hood that covered her hair might have been acceptable. Her hair was black as the night and was thick. It once was beautiful, soft, brushed, and dressed of pearls and precious stones. Today, it was all undone and dirty: Full of sand, of blood, all oily. Her hair, today was one of the reasons she had been refused at the city gate. She had hollow cheek, a pale face, trembling lips. Her eyes were as cold as ice, grey as the steel and the wind, grey as the snowy days. She had the body of a young woman even though she was really skinny.   
Her actual condition never bothered her. She had always been a wild child, on the despair of her mother who wished her daughter was acting more ladylike. What were those stupid rules anyway? She wanted to be a knight when she was a child, but her father would remind her that the swordplay was not for women. Her place was by her husband, giving him children, bla bla bla.   
But all of that was over now. No husband, and no one to tell her to act as a lady anymore. She remembered: She always wanted to ride horses, play in the yard with her brother, learn how to fight, instead she was doing needlework or she was learning how to dance. Needlework wasn’t even fun! Once she fought with her brother and he accidentally hit on her neck, which resulted in her bleeding. Today she had a scar. She never cried when he did that. She never cried when he sewed her wound. She didn’t want to show her weakness; she didn’t want to make him get in trouble. He was so sorry, and he was her brother. Half brother to be honest; She remembered: She always wanted to ride horses, play in the yard with her brother, learn how to fight, instead she was doing needlework or she was learning how to dance. Needlework wasn’t even fun! Once she fought with her brother and he accidentally hit on her neck, which resulted in her bleeding. Today she had a scar. She never cried when he did that. She never cried when he sewed her wound. She didn’t want to show her weakness; she didn’t want to make him get in trouble. He was so sorry, and he was her brother. Half brother to be honest; he was the bastard of her lord father. She might have been the only one to consider him a real member of the family. She loved him. But it was of no importance now.  
She used to be naive, a simple little girl, with simple little dreams of adventure and monsters. She had them both now. Adventure, and monsters! She would have taken her previous life back for anything in the world.   
Since the rebellion, three years ago, she had changed. The world had forced her to change. Her family had been torn apart. They all had been killed butchered. Her baby brother had been taken from the arms of her mother and had been killed in front of her eyes. Marya was hidden under the bed when it happened. She couldn't see what was happening, she only could hear. But it was enough, the terrible shout of despair of her mother, the sound of flesh being shredded, the blood that was flooding the carpet. She fought so hard not to make any noise; she fought so hard not to let her weeping being heard. But then, her mother stopped crying, she stopped shouting. Her feet didn't move. Suddenly the noise of a head being cut. She closed her eyes, and heard the body of her mother falling on the ground.   
It seemed like days before someone came in the castle to look for her. The Mater at Arms looked for her; he was away when it happened. She learned that her whole family was gone. All but her. Why ?   
She then was raised by this man, but he had been attacked one night, and he died too. From him she learned a lot of things. Some people wanted her family dead, the rebellion was only a pretext for them to attack the Longudale. Those people were members of the present empress family: The Valyras. They killed her entire family, they were looking for her still. She had to protect herself by taking other names, by traveling in the woods. A moon ago, she had to kill one of their “knigt”. They dared call them knights, but they were only dogs following orders of their masters. He was coming too close; he started to know too many things. If anyone knew where she had been only for an hour, they would find her.  
Marya promised herself to kill those who were responsible for her despair. She had been traveling meeting new people everyday. She learned how to be quick as a jaguar of the lands of the South, to be as agile as a cat of the streets of Meyan, as fierce as a wolf of the North, as discrete as a thief of Parys. She learned how to fight before the master at arm died. He taught her simple things. But the simple things made her stronger and she was taught new things as she traveled. She now could kill anyone without them even noticing. But they would. She was going to make them suffer as she had suffered; as her family had suffered while dying.  
But if she came in that city today, it wasn't for the Valyras, but for the Namé. Those men who pretend to be wise, those men who pretend to be in a democracy, those men who helped the empress family to get rid of hers.  
She went on the door and shouted again. “Open!” she would scream. But no one would ever come. She walked around the rampart of the city to find some kind of breech that would allow her to sneak into it. But nothing as such existed. She then found the water. People said it was poisoned. It was the only access to the city though.  
The gate access was impossible to take, the walls were impossible to climb; they were built deep down underground, so there was no possibilities that you can dig to pass under it; the sea was full of ships watching and of sharks. This water was poisoned, or so it was said to be. It was called the burning water. The legend said it had been set afire by the goddess Ygrina herself, to make it a tool for death. It had been described to her once. They said that anyone who touched it would burn alive. Anyone or anything. Of course she could have not listened to them. It was in a tavern, they were drunken merchant, on the lap of those women who sells their loves. But her nurse would tell her stories about that water too, her instructor would also tell her about it. So she was pretty sure it was true.  
It had been two days she was there. Luckily, while digging she found some worms and beetles, it was a disgusting and small pittance, but it was enough to maintain her alive.  
She was lining against the wall, thinking. She had beetles in her hands. Her mother would have shouted at her if she had seen her: “Don’t play with your food” she would have said. No. She would have never said that. “Stop playing with insects Maryanna. It’s not worthy of a lady of your rank”, that’s what she would have said. And Marya would have answer: “I don’t want to be a lady! I want to be a knight!”. She was young, and foolish. But that’s why her mother loved her. Because she could stand for herself. It was a quality in this world.   
She observed the beetle for a little while, and then brought it to her mouth. She was about to close her mouth, to taste the beetle on her tongue, when she stopped.   
She stood up, ran to the river and put the insect in the water. It didn’t do anything.   
The water wasn’t poisoned!   
She had been so stupid to believe so. Now that she thought about it, the only sweet water that came into the city was this one. It went underground, but it had to go out somewhere. It was time to remember all she had learned about swimming in her life.   
She went into the water, and swam toward the city until all she saw was darkness. She stayed close to the walls, helped herself, found her way thanks to them. It seemed like hours had passed, but she was still in the dark. The water was going higher and higher, she now had barely enough space for her head to be out of the water as she had to bend her head not to touch the ceiling. Then the water went down, and down, and down, until she had to walk. Then she saw a dim light. She approached, went closer, and closer. It was a manhole. She went through it and arrived in a street. No one was there, not a sound, no movement, only the sound of her breath, and the water flowing drop by drop from her rags. It was night. The moon was full and shining that night. Its light helped her see, and as she walked into the walls of Stalaba, she discovered the city. The light of the moon and the warm wind of desert caressed her face. It was the same wind in the west of the Motherland: Soft, warm…   
All of a sudden she realized. She had no idea of what she was going to do from here. She was in the city, which was a good thing, but never thought of what to do once she was in.   
The next morning, she would try to learn things about the Namé. She would observe, see them maybe, see their habits, she would question the people. Mainar, a man she met on the road, had taught her how know people’s past with a simple look. . For now, she just needed to find someplace where she could sleep.   
She wandered in the city, fascinated, afraid and subjugated by the beauty and the power of the city. All those statues, all those fountains, and of course the central pyramids, with Maliana's tears running down the pyramids. She then saw another kind of pyramid, just a little bit smaller, but not less powerful. It wasn’t as decorated as the others. It was simple, no decoration, no fountain, no ornament. It was a humble place, a place for prayers: a sacredy. She pushed the big doors. It opened on a long corridor. On each side of it were placed several statues, all different, all representing a god. They were all the gods that existed. Or at least all the gods the men worshiped. All of them were carved in the wood, they weren't painted. They were made of oak wood.   
All but one. This statue was at a random place. It wasn't a central piece, but it's importance was imposed to the eye of Marya as it was posed there, in the black color of the ebony wood.   
It seemed so light, almost floating. The statue had no face, it was hidden under a black heavy wood. It had no age. The details were overwhelming, but didn't give any indications. They were confusing, they showed so much, but hid even more features. What or who could it represent ? Marya didn't know. She tried to touch the statue, approached her hand carefully, almost afraid of what might happen if she did.   
“Death”. She startled, looked around her, and in the dim light of the few candles disposed in the room, she distinguished a child. She had long black hair, she was very small.   
Maryanna stood tall, but she wasn't sure of the meaning of this, she wasn't really sure if she was allowed to be in the sacredy at this time of the night. But a child didn't frighten her. No one would tell her to leave the sacredy. After all, she did what she wanted to, and anybody who was stupid enough to cross her way would pay the price.   
She looked at the child, with a straight, and strict look: “Excuse me?” she inquired. “Death” the child repeated before leaving. Marya tried to follow her, but when she arrived on a turn, a man blocked her path.   
He was a man of prayer, those men who decide to dedicate their whole life to the gods. They have no family, no honor and no name. They are no one. They are called man without a face in the common tongue, but in the dialect of the West of the MotherLand, they were the oscareos. She had been taught to always pay them respect as they were praying for everyone in the world.   
She bowed her head. He looked at her with a serene face. “What is the girl's name?” he asked her with a calm tone. “Nya” she answered.   
She was used lying. She had done that for three years. If she had ever told her real name to anyone: she would have died, or been exchanged for money, or tortured or maybe all three. The names went to her mind as simply as any thought. She never needed to think about it now. She used to have some difficulty finding an able name. Then she realized that the name itself didn’t matter. She just had to answer without any hesitation for people to believe her. She had been so many different people: Shaw, Nan, Salty, Almond, Cona, all of those names had been her name for long or short periods of time. Today she was Nya, tomorrow she might become someone else. But in her heart, she would still be Maryanna the Survivor of the decimated house Longudale, proud of her name and origins and ready to kill for her family to be avenged.   
“The girl lies” he said. A panic went through her. Her heart missed a beat; she began to get extremely hot. “The girl has to continue to protect herself. Here, she better not say her real name” How could he know? “Yes. She can stay here for the night. The girl didn't ask yet, but the oscareo knows her intention”. “Are you from Moren?” she inquired, but he didn't answer.  
He started to walk. At first, Marya didn't follow him. But something pushed her to do so. She shouldn't be afraid of that man. Her brain shouted to her that she shouldn't follow a man that knows so much. How could she be so stupid to follow a man she knew nothing about, but who apparently knew many things about her? Stupid, she would call herself again and again. But her instinct told her to follow him; he was a good man. A man of prayers, he didn’t have the right to interfere between the strives of men.   
He showed her a bath, where she would clean herself. Hot water where she could stay for a long time, where she could relax. He offered her new clothes, more suitable and more adapted to Stalaba. He took her to the kitchens, where women bustled to prepare her a decent meal. She could eat as much as she wanted to. On the table was: chicken, lamb and even red meat! There were salads, grapes, apples, pies, potatoes and beans! She was even allowed to eat cheese and bread. She drank gallons of water, wine and beer. He then showed her the dormitory. She had a bed for herself, and it was a real bed! She went to bed, her stomach fuller than it had been in several years, cleaner than she had been in ages, and a little tipsy.  
She woke up sixteen hours later, of a sleep without dreams. She was sore and sick. She realized that for the first time, her body wasn’t fighting anymore. It was welcoming the pain, as it was in an environment where she could feed, rest and heal. She would need a few days to be able to do anything. She would need all of her strength to kill the seven men. The next night, she had nightmares. She lived the death of her brother and mother again. And the one of her big brother too… When she woke up, she realized she had been grabbing her dagger in her sleep. It actually was the one and only valuable object she had. It was her brother’s. Half brother. It actually wasn’t worth much. She couldn’t even buy a night at an inn with it. But its value was more… sentimental. It was the only thing she had left from her family, the only thing she had left from him. She had several more nightmares about his death.   
While she was at the sacredy, she asked few questions to the oscareos about the Namé. But it seemed that the only thing they knew about them was their names. They didn't even know what they looked like. What rulers would not show themselves to their people? The only moment they heard of them, was the day of “elections” to say who became the Namé for the two next years. Of course they didn't change in more than 20 years, and no one voted at the sacredy.   
After enjoying her first two resting days at the sacredy, she felt thankful and needed to ask more people about the Namé. She then decided to help the servants in the kitchens by going to the market to buy what they needed. It would be a good way to talk to people working in this great city.   
While she was waiting in line to buy things, she questioned the people about their leaders. And the answer was always the same. It would be the exact same sentence every time. It was as if they leaned that phrase by heart: “They are good to us, we are all happy”.  
After her grocery shopping, she went to the first tavern she saw. She sat at one of those tables where anyone can come and join you as it was the only kind of table that was free. But she sincerely hoped that no one would sit with her. This lack of information about her targets was discouraging.   
A woman sat just in front of her. She looked at Marya intensly, without blinking. She was observing her. Marya tried not to pay attention to the woman.   
She was slender, had the golden skin of those lands, and she had big eyes that were black as the night. She wore large golden earrings, and a purple bandana keeping her hair from fighting in front of her eyes.   
Those eyes were looking closely at the new girl in town. Marya kept drinking her beer, glancing a few times toward the woman to see if she was still looking at her.   
“I heard you talking about the Namé” said the woman.   
“Oh did you ?” answered Marya sarcastically, “If you have anymore information about how good they are, I beg you tell me!” she continued, taking her cup to her mouth.   
After a pause, the woman said “I'm Anya.”. What could she do of that information?   
“I'm glad to know that!”.  
“What do you want to know about the Namé ?” she inquired.   
“Their habits, what they do, where they go, who they see” she listed before sighing.   
Anya's gaze didn't move, she was still looking at her.   
“Maybe no one knows about that.”  
“They all say they are good”  
“Maybe they are”, Anya replied.   
For a moment Marya didn't talk. After all the people were happy. They didn't have wars, they had something to eat, they were protected. But they are relying on slavery a voice in her head muttered. Those slaves were treated so badly. They couldn’t feed themselves properly; they didn’t have any life other than work.   
“Maybe”, she finally answered.  
“Or maybe not” Anya implied.  
Was she playing ?   
“What do you mean ?” asked Marya slightly interested.   
“For a few golden coins, I might tell you.” Oh then that's what it was about. Marya went closer to Anya, she took her dagger and hid it under her coat so that Anya only was able to see it pointed toward her.   
“Or because you are so thankful that I won’t kill you, you will tell me everything” she said smiling.   
The black-eyed smiled; she turned her head toward her aggressor and then said: “If everyone seems so happy, , if everyone has enough to eat, to drink, to live. If we all have a roof upon our head, it is simply because all those who might stain the apparent perfection of Stalaba are driven out of the city, or if they are strong enough, they are reduced to slavery”.  
Marya took the dagger off of the young woman, shocked. Who could be cruel enough to expose their own people to a certain death ? Who would reduce their own people to slavery ? “Sometimes, the sacredy accept people inside their pyramid. They hide them from the Namé. They teach them how to survive in the desert, and keep them as long as they can. Until the Namé know who hosted them and push those people out of the city. But those people are the lucky ones. Usually the Namé know it before.”  
Marya got up, left some coins on the table for her beer, and handed a golden coin to Anya. “Thank you. It was really useful”. When she went back, she knew. She wasn't fighting only for the honor of her family, but also for all those people who are afraid in their own homes. She was fighting for the whole city, the slaves, the free people. She was fighting for her family's memory.   
The next day and night she would observe the pyramid to know how to penetrate it. Then she would pass herself as a servant.   
Once she was in the pyramid, she succeeded in having the best task she would have asked for. She was going to serve the dinner to the Namé. She was told that they ate at different times, which was surprising to her. But she didn't pay much attention to that detail.   
When she got into the big dining room, she set the two plates, and went to hide behind the curtain. No one could see her. She heard the door open. The step of a man, only one coming and sitting down at the table. She heard the noise of the cutlery.   
“You can come out of your hiding place Maryanna of House Longudale”. She went out. And the man that was eating. He was one of them, he was one of the Namé. He was a fat and bold man. He would be easily killed.   
“Sit. I beg you. You must be hungry. Trying to kill important people, must trigger hunger!” She sat in front of him, where the second plate was put. “I was waiting for you” he said.   
She was confused. Who was this man?? How did he know she would come ? “You took much more time than I expected though” he continued, while eating his plate. “I guess you have a lot of questions, so I will listen to you”.   
He seemed so serene, so calm, so nice, so different than she expected. Not that she expected anything in particular, but she just knew that she absolutely didn't think about a man like that in the Namé.   
“Who are you?” She started.   
“A Namé” he answered.   
“Which one?” she inquired.   
“All of them” he said.   
She waited for a minute. There wasn't seven but one Namé. All of those stories about democracy, all of those stories about the liberty of choice, all those stories about the wise men, the council ensuring the protection, all of those stories were lies!   
“The existence of this system is a lie!” she said furiously. How could one fool the whole world without anyone noticing?   
“Who knows about that ?” She asked frustrated.   
“You, and me” he said.   
Only ? How did he do that ?   
“Why ?” she asked at last, feeling all her feelings melting in herself to form the strangest emotion she had ever felt, a mix of almost every feeling she had lived through.  
“This is a little vague, I think. Can you explain ?”   
She didn't know where to start. The most important question was on her lips, but she couldn't ask it first. It was personal, and once upon a time, her father taught her to care about the others first, that the personal problems had to come last. But he also taught her that family came first: “Family over everything. We might be the most different individuals, but we still have this bond. We still have the same blood. Together we are stronger.” It was the first thing you had to talk about, it was the first thing you had to think about; it was the first people you had to go to; it was the people you should defend whatever happens. They are who you have to stick with no matter what, they are the people that would always be here for you. Except, that her family was gone because of this man. Alone, she was weaker, but her family was in her heart. They might not be standing next to her, but they were the flame that was warming her heart.   
“Why did you help in the murder of my family?” she asked calm.   
She was serene, not afraid, for she knew what she had to do. The child in the sacredy was right. “Death”, she had said. Death was what waited for this man.   
He poured himself a cup of wine. “It is simple. Your family was really close to the king. They wanted to abolish slavery! What would become this city if slavery didn't exist anymore ?!”   
“A free city maybe, where people aren't afraid of being put to a life of labor or a slow death.” she cut him.   
“Not good for my business my lady”, he smiled.   
“I'm not a lady.” she responded her teeth clenched.   
He ignored her remark. Actually. She was not a lady, but the lady. Lady of House Longudale, warden of the Moren, the survivor.   
“Moreover, the House Valyras and the seven wise men have some agreements that are very convenient now that they are on the throne”, he sneered. “You understand my motives now.”   
“No,” she answered.   
“Poor girl! Your family was weakened by this stupid sense of honor. A weak family like yours shouldn't have any hold on power. Their honor, we still laugh at them for that. Your father would have perished rather than betray your family or the empire. Even for money! He could have saved you, you know ? Because we went to your precious dad and offered him your lives against the fealty of his house to the new empire. And he refused. He decided against it. He is the one that killed your mother, he is the one that killed your baby brother; he is the one that killed your bastard of a brother!” He spited.   
Her teeth still clenched “You lie, the only reason they are dead isn't because my father was honorable, but that you are cruel enough to slaughter an entire family.”  
“Let's talk about your father. He wasn't legitimate. His sister should have been the ruler of the west. But what happened ? She died. Why ? Because your father was paying attention to some other things” he snapped.   
“They have been attacked. He was fighting the men that pushed her in the river! He couldn't have saved her! When he got rid of those man, it was too late, her body was already long gone!” she cried.   
“Moreover, the first son that he gave was a bastard. Apparently your daddy is honorable enough to expose his entire family to a certain death, but not enough to keep control of his cock!If your half brother had survived, the west would have been ruled by a bastard, a nature's mistake, a product of betrayal who would only be good to betray the others! A coward.”   
“Finn wasn't a coward!” she shouted.   
No one would stain the honor of her family. Her father was an honorable man, her big brother too, they would both give their lives to protect the other member of her family.   
“Oh yes he was! Finn Sand, your big half bastard brother was a coward” he shouted back “He begged for his live saying that he would give anything to life! He didn't fight back. He didn't care about you!” She began to cry of rage.   
“LIES!” She shouted. “When I went to my mothers room that night, I saw him! I saw him fight. He protected me! He died because of me!” She burst into tears. “I didn't want to go, I didn't want to leave him! He was fighting, but he didn't want anything happening to me! HE LOST HIS LIFE SAVING MINE!” she shouted in tears.   
“He was a coward” he articulated.   
She took her dagger, dived on him. She murmured to his ear: “My father was the most honorable man, my mother the fairest and the sweetest, my big brother the most courageous, my little brother the most promising child of the old kingdom. You killed them. I am Maryanna the Lady of the House Longudale, the Survivor of the rebellion, guardian of the West, in the name of the last King and of the Lord of the House Longudale I sentence you to death” she said. Her voice was calm, her eyes were full of tears.   
Suddenly, a breath not taken, the sound of a throat being sliced, and blood flowing from the victim. Blood was flowing and formed a puddle, staining the beautiful Persian carpet. The aggressor looked at the corpse. No expression could be read on his face.   
The other man wiped his mouth with his napkin, got off his chair. “It cut my appetite” the Namé said “You saved my life slave, you will be rewarded for that, a good meal will be preprared to you, but first, take care of her corpse” he continued. “Burn her, and lay her ashes next to those of her family. She's been tormented enough in her life, let's not torment her death. You'll leave the city tonight. You will go to west first, without being seen. Then you'll go in the South and you'll tell the Emperor that Lady Maryanna of house Longudale, the Survivor of the rebellion, and Guardian of the west is dead.” The slave started to do as he was commended. “Oh, and bring this dagger with her.”


End file.
